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But she doesn't. Instead she takes aim at her own neck, and he sees now that she too has a programming bolt there—smaller in her case, more subtle, designed to look like a mole. A beauty mark, really. She's seen this done before, it seems, or perhaps it's been done to her. With little hesitation she injects herself with the reprogramming virus.

Berg watches as she withdraws the needle, absently placing a finger over the bolt as if to secure the virus within her bloodstream. She wears a look of expectant concentration, as if anticipating some dramatic, immediate effect. He's never administered the drug to a conscious slave, and finds himself intensely curious. "Is it working?" he asks.

She breaks her focus, glances at him. "I don't know," she says, sounding disappointed. Then she crouches down beside him and extends the used syringe. "Here. Take it."

"Why?"

"Get rid of it. I don't want them finding a used one."

He nods; no residual presence. She's protecting the operation. "Then you see," he says. "You agree with us—"

"I didn't say that," she interrupts. "Give me the rest."

"The—what?"

"The rest of the syringes. Give them to me. Or do you want me to call the guards back?"

Berg hesitates for a moment, weighs his options. Is the security detail still moving around out there? He doesn't hear them, but he can't be sure. And anyway, he still finds it difficult to say no to this woman. He reaches into the beltpouch and hands over the syringes. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm testing it," she says, meeting his eyes. "If I think it's right for the others... maybe I will give them the choice."

He struggles to his elbows, flexes his knees. His strength is returning. "And what about me?"

"You're leaving," Aliyyah says. "And never coming back."

Berg struggles to his feet, toggles the wristpad of the camosuit. It seems to be working. "Are you—?"

"Just get out of here, before I change my mind!"

He meets her gaze and, surprised at himself, he nods in agreement. Then he pulls the mask over his face and makes sure it's filtering properly before he moves out into the hall. One last glance reveals she's no longer looking at him. She sits on the bed with a finger pressed against her neck. Waiting for the change. Leaving the door open behind him, he triggers the suit's stealthing tech and leaves the room.

His movements are halting at first. His body feels like a strange fit. But the effects of the veil's shock are wearing off now. Quick glances into the side rooms reveal that the security detail has indeed collapsed, knocked out by the gas. There should be no trouble making it to the perimeter.

He races across the compound, the movement a struggle, mind reeling with questions. Missions didn't go this way; it had always gone like clockwork, in his experience. Slaves made no trouble, they did what they were told. How does Aliyyah fit in with them? She seems no less human than he is.

At the fence, he hesitates, glances around the grounds for signs of alarm. But the scene is silent, deathly still. It will be an easy escape. Leaving now, he will make the extraction point with time to spare.

He wonders how Mullen will respond when he makes his report. The mission has failed, he'll have to say. Or, perhaps, it's partially succeeded—at least one of the slaves was injected. The mission may even completely succeed, if that one slave decides to finish the job for him. It's madness. Mullen will never understand this.

He's not sure he understands it.